deep into that darkness peering
by Ayla Pascal
Summary: AU. Voldemort's won in a surprise coup. In the aftermath, Pansy has chosen Ron to be her slave.


**Author Notes: **Thank you so much to aigooism for the beta!

**Warnings:** Dark!fic, dubious consent, implied non-con, adultery, slavery.

**day one**

The first thing that Ron noticed was that his head felt as though a hammer was driving sharp, pointy nails into his temples with painful regularity. Ron lifted his fingers and gently prodded the tender area; they came back wet. He blinked to clear his vision as he looked down at his fingers. Through the haze, Ron noticed that they were red. It was obviously his blood, which meant that he was injured.

"Help," Ron tried to say but it came out as a croak. He cleared his throat. "Is there anybody there?"

A sweet waft of perfume floated towards him as somebody leaned over him. The person had long black hair and their shampoo smelled like those candles Hermione always loved to put in their living room. "So you're awake."

Ron frowned. His vision was still fuzzy and his headache was making it hard for him to concentrate, but he could have sworn he knew that voice. There was something about the sharp, clipped tone that seemed very familiar. "Who are you?" he asked as he struggled to sit up. There was a distinct thrumming sound in his ears as he moved. "Where am I?" As he looked around, Ron saw plain walls and from the feel of it, the floor underneath him was cold stone. He obviously wasn't home. Hermione liked paintings and soft carpeting, and their walls were a pale peach.

"You're here, of course." The voice sounded amused. "Here, let me give you something. It'll help with the headache you undoubtedly have."

A cup of some sort of concoction was thrust underneath his nose. It smelled disgusting but then again, most headache remedies didn't have a particularly palatable odour. "What is it?"

"Just drink it," the person told him. The voice now sounded irritated. "I already told you that it was to help your headache."

"It could be poison," Ron mumbled but he managed to grab the cup and down its contents anyway.

"Yes, it could be," the person said dryly. "But you drank it anyway."

Almost immediately, Ron could feel the effects of the potion. His vision was the first to clear and he could see that the room he was in wasn't so plain after all. It was obviously somebody's home, just more sparsely decorated than the one he shared with Hermione. To be honest, Ron wasn't that fond of the frippery that Hermione seemed to like. He preferred a home that just came together, like his childhood home, as opposed to one that Hermione had spent weeks planning out. As Ron struggled onto his feet, he could feel the headache dissipating. There was still a dull throb around the base of his skull, but he could think.

"I see you're feeling better."

Ron turned around. "Pansy Parkinson?" he spluttered. "What? Why am I here? Why are you here?" As Ron stared around the room, he almost expected that Fred and George would jump out of the corners and say that it was all some sort of practical joke. Except, there was real dried blood on his temples; he could detect the dull metallic smell now. He didn't think either of the twins would ever go that far. Unless, of course, it was fake blood. Ron licked the tip of his fingertip. No, it was definitely real.

"I take it you don't remember," Pansy said. There was a strange note in her voice. "Well, you'd better sit down then."

"I'm not going to sit down!" Ron exclaimed. He looked around and spotted a door behind her. "I'm leaving. I'm going home to my wife." He reached up and touched his head again. "I don't know what kind of sick game you're playing and why you brought me here, but I'm leaving!"

He was about to walk towards the door but Pansy blocked his way. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," she announced.

Ron stepped forward, narrowing his eyes. "Are you threatening me?" he asked. He didn't usually make it a habit of his to try to intimidate women; Merlin knew that never worked on Hermione, but this was Pansy Parkinson. He didn't expect her to step aside, but he didn't expect the smirk on her face either.

"No, of course not," Pansy told him, folding her arms across her chest. "I actually was the one who saved your life."

Somehow, despite the circumstances, Ron couldn't help notice that her posture pulled back her robes so that they were tight across her chest. Not to mention that they were rather low-cut robes that emphasised her cleavage. Ron couldn't remember the last time Hermione had worn robes like that. He blinked and then looked back up at her face. There was a smug look on her face that told him that she knew what he had just been thinking. And then his brain caught up with his ears and he suddenly registered what she had said. "You what?"

"I saved your life," Pansy said flatly. "They wanted to kill you but I offered to take you in. You can't leave my house."

Ron's head spun. What the hell was she saying? "They?" he repeated, his mind latching onto the bit that seemed most important. "Who are they? Why are they trying to kill me?"

"It's not personal. They didn't want to just kill _you_," Pansy said, sounding exasperated. "Look, Weasley, you really should sit down. You're swaying."

So he was. Ron realised that, despite the potion he had drunk, the room still wasn't completely steady. "You poisoned me," he accused. "That potion. It was poison."

Pansy held out a bottle labelled _Headache Remedy: Super Strength_. "It's not poison, you idiot. You were just hit on the head rather hard. They can be rather brutal at times. Now, sit down!"

Ron found himself steered towards a sofa and forcibly pushed down onto it. "Who are they? Who tried to kill me? Or everybody?"

Pansy lifted an eyebrow. "The Dark Lord, of course."

"What?" Ron gasped.

"You really don't remember, do you?" Pansy said slowly. She sounded almost sad. "Look, Weasley, you lost. Your side, you lost. The Ministry was taken last Friday and the Dark Lord ordered everybody's deaths."

Ron's throat closed up. "Everybody?" he managed to get out.

Pansy gave him a faint smile. "Lucius took a bit of a liking to your wife. I believe she's enjoying the hospitality of Malfoy Manor at this moment."

"What?" Ron spluttered. "He took Hermione?" This entire thing was sounding surreal. "The Ministry was overtaken? How?"

She shrugged. "Does it matter?"

Ron couldn't believe she had said that. Does it matter? He couldn't even believe it had happened. Of course it mattered! "And what was your role in all of this?" he snapped.

"They were about to kill you. I saved you. You were out cold for almost a week. End of story," Pansy said. "Think of it as my good deed of the year. You get to stay alive. Congratulations."

Ron stared at her, and his hand went almost involuntarily to the dried blood still caked to his temples. From the fact that it was still sore even with the headache potion, he could only assume he had taken quite a beating. He could almost hear his heart pounding in his ears and from the smell of his robes, he had been sweating quite a lot. Ron dug his fingernails dug deep into the skin of his palms. "I get to stay alive," he repeated. "That's supposed to be some kind of reward?"

"I asked for you to be delivered to my place. Unfortunately, they were a little... rough."

Ron blinked. He could suddenly clearly see a very large, meaty fist connecting with the side of his head. "Crabbe," he said slowly.

"And Goyle," Pansy agreed. "They were rather upset that they didn't get to keep your pretty wife so they took it out on you."

Ron swallowed and breathed in deeply, suppressing the nausea that bubbled up in his throat. He was beginning to remember that how every day The Daily Prophet mentioned more and more deaths. There were whispers of insurgents, but Ron hadn't thought anything of it. He never paid much attention because he never thought anything like this would ever happen. He always thought the Order would win because, in the past, they always had. Except... Ron closed his eyes as he remembered. Death Eaters had stormed the Ministry, firing spells everywhere. So many had fallen over their work; they hadn't even had time to draw their wands.

He had been changing out of his robes into Muggle clothes in the Ministry changing rooms at the time. He was thinking of how he had promised to take Hermione out to dinner in the Muggle world and how he could get out of it. He really didn't feel comfortable in trousers. They tended to chafe. He hadn't even heard the door open.

Ron remembered that he had spun around and seen several dark cloaked Death Eaters storming in. They had frozen him on the spot and then dragged his body away. Ron could feel his stomach churning. He hadn't even had the chance to fight. He had simply stared at them in surprise until one of them fired a spell at him.

"I take it you're remembering."

Ron swallowed but it didn't seem to diminish the lump in his throat. He wiped his sweaty palms on his robes but the clingy silk that Hermione had bought him didn't seem to absorb any of it. "You could be lying," he said, but his voice lacked conviction even to his own ears. He wanted to punch her, but he didn't want to punch a woman, even if she was a crazy Death Eater who was keeping him as a slave. If only he had his wand, Ron thought morosely.

Pansy walked over to a bookshelf and grabbed a copy of The Daily Prophet. She tossed it onto the sofa. "See that headline? 'The Dark Lord Wins Control of Ministry'."

Ron wanted to protest that it had all happened so quickly. The war had dragged on for so many years that he had got used to it. It was as if the perpetual state of fear was normal. He didn't like going into the Muggle world with Hermione. They didn't know about the war; they were just too happy. "Wait," Ron said, "you said I was out for a week?"

"Five days," Pansy said.

"You just left me on the floor for that entire time?" Ron was appalled. So far, Pansy had been acting almost normally. He could almost imagine that they were back at Hogwarts, bickering about house points. But she'd left him on the floor for that many days? Ron sniffed. It explained a lot of things though, including the smell of his underarms.

Pansy sneered, the expression transforming her face. "You are my slave," she emphasised. She sat down on the couch next to him and trailed her wand over his bare arm. The sensation of the cool wood made him shiver. "I own you, Weasley. Don't you forget that. Now I don't like my slaves injured, but rest assured that I will hurt you if you try to escape."

"Um," Ron said. He couldn't think of anything to say to that.

Pansy smiled at him. It was a warm smile except for the icy gleam in her eyes. "I'm not as brutal as Lucius. I'm not that fond of cages. But since you seem unsure, I believe I may have to take you to visit his dungeons sometime."

A shiver ran down Ron's spine and coiled in his stomach.

* * *

**day two**

"You want me to do what?"

Pansy smirked and inclined her head towards the cupboard. "I'm not fond of house elves," she said calmly. "I want you to clean this wing of the house."

"This wing?" Ron couldn't help but wonder whether that meant that Pansy had managed to get a few more slaves for the other wings of her house. He had no idea how big her house was, but if it had wings, he suspected that it was most likely the size of Malfoy Manor.

"That's what I said," Pansy said impatiently. "I know you're not stupid, Weasley, so don't pretend to be. And don't look so put-out either. I own you. Would you prefer to spend the time in my dungeons? Or Lucius's dungeons? I could arrange for that."

"No, of course not," Ron said hastily.

Pansy folded her arms across her chest, and Ron fought to stop himself from staring at her. It was still not sinking in for him. The entire last day felt like a daze. He was in a known Death Eater's house – or at least she was a Dark Lord supporter – but he hadn't been tortured, he hadn't been thrown into a cage, and he hadn't even been seriously injured. Unless you counted the tenderness of his right temple and the multi-coloured bruise on his forehead.

"I'll do it," Ron snapped. He had no intention of ever picking up a broom and sweeping even a particle of dirt off her floor, but he needed to say something. There was something unnerving about the way she was staring at him. He walked towards the cupboard she had indicated.

"Oh and Ron?"

Ron turned around to see Pansy standing by the door. She was tapping her long, manicured fingernails on the doorframe. "What?"

"Don't ever forget that I rescued you. You owe me." Pansy's voice was clipped and cold. She spun around and walked out of the door, letting it click shut behind her, leaving Ron staring after her.

Ron sighed and turned back to the cupboard. Yanking it open, Ron looked at rows and rows of cleaning supplies, brooms, mops, and various other things. None of them were magical. Ron snorted and slammed the door shut again. He wasn't going to clean her house.

* * *

**day four**

Ron woke up to Pansy poking him in the back with her wand. "What'd you want?" he mumbled as he turned over in the makeshift bed she had set up for him in a spare room.

"Get up," Pansy snapped.

"What?" Ron blinked blearily up at her. He then looked over at the clock. "It's six thirty in the morning." Pansy looked as though she had been up until four am. She was impeccably dressed in what seemed like dress robes. Ron squinted. She didn't seem as confident as she normally seemed. In fact, if he didn't know better, he would have sworn that she was nervous.

"We're going over to Malfoy Manor," Pansy said curtly as she threw robes onto his bed. "Get dressed."

Ron picked the robes up and stared at them. They were probably better quality than his work robes. "At least you dress your slaves well," he said sarcastically, making no move to get up off the bed. He wasn't going to get dressed in front of her.

Pansy snorted. "As I told you, Weasley, I'm not a sadistic bastard like Lucius. I'll wait for you outside." She spun on her heel and left the room, leaving Ron staring after her, wondering what she meant. There were always rumours about Lucius Malfoy and most of them were unpleasant. There had been one going around Hogwarts that he used to beat his son. The first time Ron had heard that one, he had told Hermione that he hoped it was correct. She just stared at him. It wasn't as though he wanted Draco to be beaten up, even though he was a prick. It was just that it was nice to imagine that underneath those expensive robes, there were bruises.

Ron reluctantly lifted the robes off the bed and pulled them on. They felt soft against his bare skin. His mother had always advocated the idea of underwear underneath robes, but somehow, Ron thought that these robes were probably designed to be worn without underwear. They flowed off him comfortably, unlike his own very scratchy robes. He walked over to the door and pushed it open.

Pansy was standing there, tapping a foot impatiently on the ground. "Too long enough," she grumbled.

"It was a minute," Ron protested. He was about to say more, but noticed the slight quirk of her lips.

"I know," Pansy said, rolling her eyes. "I was just joking. Geez, Weasley."

Somehow, Ron thought that his ability to detect jokes was somewhat hampered by his current status as a slave. He had no idea what sort of punishments Pansy could dole out, but he suspected that his current rights and liberties amounted to nil. "Let's go," he said abruptly.

Pansy raised an eyebrow. "That eager? I wouldn't be, if I were you." There was an ominous note in her voice; Ron didn't like it. She pulled a small box out of her pocket. "Portkey. It'll take us there in a minute."

Ron walked over and touched the box gingerly. Its surface was smooth and strangely warm under his fingertips. "Who else is going to be there?"

"Just your general Death Eater gathering," Pansy said. "Nobody important. The Dark Lord couldn't be there."

"Oh good," Ron said faintly. At the best of times, he wouldn't want to go to Lucius Malfoy's house and this definitely wasn't the best of times. The tugging at his belly button drew him back to the present. The world swirled around him, and Ron found himself clutching onto Pansy's arm. He closed his eyes and thought about the Muggle fairy tale that Hermione had once told him. Even though Ron didn't think clicking his heels together three times would do anything, he did it anyway.

"Let go, Weasley," Pansy said irritably.

Ron opened his eyes to see Pansy glaring at him. With embarrassment, he unclenched his fingers and stepped backwards. Looking around, Ron saw plush carpets, paintings, and a lot of mahogany furniture. "I thought there would be more ... cages."

"I took one of the better Portkeys," Pansy said. "We could have ended up in the middle of Lucius's entertainment quarters."

Somehow, Ron didn't think that those entertainment quarters would involve radio and television. There was a sound behind him, and Ron spun around to see a house elf staring at him. He swallowed a snort. Even the house elves here looked snotty.

"Mippy takes slave with her," the house elf said, directing her words to Pansy.

Ron raised an eyebrow. Apparently slaves had no standing with house elves either. "I'm Ron," he snapped.

The house elf ignored him but continued to stare at Pansy until she nodded her head. "Take him," she said. "Try to make sure he doesn't get injured."

Mippy curtseyed, an awkward gesture with the pillowcase. "Mippy will do."

To Ron's horror, Pansy took her wand out and gestured at him to follow the house elf. "Hey!" Ron protested as the house elf began to drag him away. She was incredibly strong for somebody that was half his size. "Where the hell are we going?"

Mippy didn't answer him. Ron just found himself being half-pulled thorough hallways. As they passed several doorways, he tried to pull himself free of the house elf's grip, but somehow it was like her hand was spelled onto his robe. "Let me go!" Ron tried to order, but she simply just kept on going.

"You can't escape," a voice drawled.

Ron stopped. He almost expected Mippy to keep on going but she stopped as well and let go of his robes. "Master," she breathed, curtseying.

Ron turned his head and saw Lucius Malfoy standing in an open doorway with his wand in his fingers. He was twirling it casually. "Ronald Weasley," Lucius said slowly as he walked forward and looked Ron up and down. "You're looking well."

"You're not," Ron said spitefully. "You have a huge pimple in the middle of your forehead."

Lucius shook his head. "Such cheek. I wouldn't allow such insolence in my slaves, but I'm sure Pansy has her reasons. If one of my slaves acted like that, I would _punish_ them." There was a silkiness in his tone that sent a shiver down Ron's spine.

Suddenly, Ron wondered what was in the room behind Lucius. He took half a step forward and then realised he didn't want to know. It was nothing good; he was positive about that. "I'd say that you have the right to do whatever you want, but you don't. You know you don't have the right to punish anybody."

Lucius laughed. "That was exactly what _Hermione_ said to me. It's nice to know that couples think alike." The intimacy with which he stressed her name infuriated Ron. "Now wouldn't you like to see your wife?"

Ron pressed his lips together.

"She makes such a lovely pet," Lucius said, his voice a low purr. "Come in and see."

Almost involuntarily, Ron stepped forward into the room. He stopped immediately. He could hear his heart pounding and his hands began shaking. "What the fuck have you done to her?" Hermione was in the corner, kneeling. She was naked except for a collar around her neck and a leash leading from the collar, which trailed the ground. She was facing them, but she didn't even look up to see who had entered the room. Ron was about to run over to her when Lucius shook her head.

"Don't do that, Weasley," Lucius said, pointing his wand at Ron.

At his name, Ron could see Hermione's head move slightly. "What have you done to her?" he demanded.

"I broke her," Lucius said simply. He walked over and ran a hand through her hair; Ron watched as he twirled a curl in his fingers. His stomach churned with anger and jealousy as Lucius leaned over and cupped a breast in his hand. "Isn't she obedient?"

Ron closed his eyes and tried to ignore the scene in front of him.

"Watch, Weasley," Lucius hissed but Ron just kept his eyes pressed tightly shut. He couldn't watch this. He couldn't watch another man touch his wife, especially in a circumstance like this. But he couldn't block out the small throaty moan that Hermione made; it was the sound she normally made when she was panting and eager for him to thrust into her. Ron opened his eyes just a crack and was sickened to see Lucius casually rearranging Hermione's legs so that they were wide open.

"Very obedient," Lucius said, sounding approving.

"I w-won't watch this," Ron burst out.

Lucius continued as if he hadn't even heard Ron. "She does anything I tell her to do. And I think my pet has grown to like the whip."

Ron shuddered. He didn't want to think about Hermione's pale skin with red welts. "What does your wife think about all of this?"

"Narcissa?" Lucius asked, sounding surprised. "She knows it's just a hobby."

That's my wife, Ron wanted to scream. Hermione wasn't anybody's hobby. Hermione was a person. She was the brightest person Ron knew, but right now, as Ron looked at the naked body kneeling in the corner, he didn't think she would even talk to him. He took a step backwards, towards the hallway and suddenly bumped into somebody.

"Enjoying your toys, Lucius?"

Ron felt a wave of relief wash through him. It was Pansy. Despite everything, she hadn't humiliated him as much as Lucius was doing to Hermione. In fact, she hadn't done much of anything to him. "Pansy!" he exclaimed.

Pansy sneered at him. "Shut up, Weasley," she snapped and grabbed him tightly by the arm. She turned to Lucius. "We'll be going now. You didn't think you could get a taste of my slave for free, did you?"

It took a few seconds for her words to sink in, but when they did, Ron felt his skin crawl. A taste of her slave? That was sick. Yet he knew that Lucius would do something like that. Given what Lucius had done to Hermione, Ron suspected that sick bastard would do anything. Pansy's grip around his upper arm tightened as she dragged him away. "That was Hermione," Ron whispered once they were out of earshot.

Pansy's eyes were cold as she turned towards him. "I told you," she said flatly. "If you do anything stupid, you could end up just like your wife." Her eyes glittered for a second before she gave him small smile. "But if you're not stupid, this entire experience won't be that painful for you."

Ron hated himself for the slight relief he felt because he hadn't ended up with a monster like Lucius Malfoy. He had no idea why Pansy was being so nice to him – all things considering – but he didn't want to question it. She could have stripped him of all of his clothes and thrown him in a dungeon, but she didn't. Ron wondered if, perhaps, she'd had a crush on him at Hogwarts.

"Stop smirking," Pansy said irritably.

Ron wiped the smirk off his face.

* * *

**day ten**

"Help Hermione," Ron pleaded. "Please!"

Pansy arched her eyebrow, her upper lip curling. "What makes you think I want to?" She crossed her legs and then re-crossed them; Ron couldn't help but follow the movement with his eyes. When he looked up, he could see her smirk.

"You're not a bad person," Ron said slowly. Or at least, she hadn't beaten or raped him yet, which made her not a bad person in comparison with Lucius Malfoy. He wasn't sure it made her a good person, but given the situation, she wasn't a bad one either. "You're just in a situation that you don't want to be in. You're doing the best you can in a bad situation."

Pansy snorted. "Spare me the amateur psychology, Weasley."

"I'm right," Ron insisted, swallowing his doubts. He might as well try it, for Hermione's sake. What was the worst that could happen? Well, he knew what the worst was, but he didn't think that Pansy would actually hand him over to Lucius. She wasn't that sick. "You know I am. You don't want to do things like what he's doing to Hermione."

"You can't even say it," Pansy said, her eyes narrowing. "You can't even spell out what he's doing to your wife. You wouldn't last ten minutes with Lucius. And, contrary to popular opinion, not all of us are like him. I prefer not to get my hands dirty."

"Help her," Ron pleaded. "You saw what he was doing to her." His throat tightened as the images replayed in his mind of Lucius caressing Hermione's skin as though he owned her.

"He has that right."

"Nobody has that right!" Ron snapped. "Nobody."

Pansy's eyes narrowed. "Perhaps Lucius was right," she said slowly. "Perhaps I am being a little bit too lenient on you, Weasley. You are getting quite insolent."

There was something about the look on her face that made Ron feel like a thousand insects were crawling on and burrowing under his skin. He gulped and tried to keep the confident expression on his face, but it kept on slipping.

"Perhaps I'm going to have to teach you a lesson." Pansy's voice was soft and light; they could have been dating and she could have been discussing what they were going to have for dinner. It almost didn't seem like a threat.

"You won't," Ron said, sounding confident.

Pansy laughed. "You keep on trying to convince yourself."

As Ron watched her leave the room, he wondered what she had planned. There had been a glittering light in her eyes that promised that he would regret asking her for help. She was planning something; he knew it and he suspected he wasn't going to like her plan.

* * *

**day twenty-five**

I was right, Ron thought furiously. Pansy had been planning something and he hated it. The images kept on floating back into his mind but Ron pushed them away. He needed to concentrate on what he was about to do. His only regret was that he hadn't tried something like this sooner. He normally didn't do this to women. Molly had brought him up to respect women, but Pansy deserved this. She deserved it for what she did.

Ron held his breath as he heard Pansy outside of the door. His hands were trembling but he steadied them by smoothing them against the fabric of his robes. He knew her routine by now. He knew that she would first look at the clock as she entered the room and then at him and it was that millisecond that he was going to exploit.

"Had a good day, Wea-" Pansy was saying as she walked in the door.

Ron watched as her head turned almost imperceptibly towards the clock. He sprang forward; his breath came in harsh gasps as he used his full upper body strength to slam Pansy into the wall. "You bitch! I heard you yesterday," he spat. "I heard what you did to Hermione!" He had almost lost all hope that she would be rescued from Lucius, when suddenly, last night, there she was. There was a curl of jealousy in his stomach that threatened to burst out and stab him. The thought of Hermione's cries as he heard the sharp smacking sound of a bare hand on skin made him shudder. It wasn't as though he had never thought about Hermione with another woman. It was a hot image but now that it had happened, Ron hated the whole idea. Hermione was his. He was the only person who was supposed to touch her.

Not to mention, he wasn't entirely sure that his feelings weren't entirely related to Pansy. Over the last few weeks, he had got to know Pansy quite well. At times, he felt as though they had some sort of connection, but that was obviously wrong.

"You fucked my wife!" Ron snapped. His fingers wrapped around her wrists and pressed them above her head. He grabbed her wand and threw it away; he didn't want her to have any sort of leverage over him.

Pansy's eyes narrowed. "You were listening?"

"Watching," Ron corrected. He could still see the image of Hermione writhing on the bed, hands shackled to the four bedposts, as Pansy slowly trailed a whip over her body, flicking it over her erect nipples. Hermione had been moaning and begging, but Ron wasn't able to hear what she was saying. He had slumped on the ground outside Pansy's bedroom, unable to watch any more. "I thought you said that she was at Malfoy Manor."

"Lucius grew tired of her," Pansy said calmly. "So I bought her."

Ron's hands tightened around her wrists and he could hear her gasp. "You bought her?" he said, his voice a low hiss.

"Just like I bought you," Pansy told him, but there was a flicker of fear in her eyes.

Ron knew that he had been given a lot of freedom compared to the other slaves that had been sold after the coup. During the first week, Pansy had collared him and taken him out to see how the other Death Eaters were treating their slaves. It had made Ron sick to see the empty looks in the eyes of his former classmates and the welts and bruises on their faces. "If you run away, I can't protect you," Pansy had told him. He hadn't tried to run away after that and as a result, Pansy had given him increasing amounts of freedom. He was allowed almost free reign over a wing of her house. It was the only thing that meant he could overpower her. Ron almost felt guilty. She obviously had trusted him; otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to do this. But then, he thought about what he saw the previous night and the sight of Pansy's slim, manicured fingernails sliding into Hermione.

Ron savagely dug his fingernails into Pansy's skin. There was a distinct flush of pleasure through him as she winced. He could smell the heady, floral scent of her perfume, so different from Hermione's light, soap smell. "Liked fucking my wife did you?" he growled.

"I did," Pansy said flatly.

Ron's stomach churned. He leaned forward and used his weight to pin her up against the wall. Her body was warm against his. Pansy struggled, wriggling against him in an attempt to duck under his arms. "Don't like it much, do you?" Ron spat.

"Unhand me, Weasley." Pansy's voice was calm but it was belied by her frenzied efforts to wrench her wrists away from his grip.

Ron shivered slightly as she seemed to rub up against his crotch. Mentally, he was still furious, but his body seemed to have a completely different idea. He could feel himself hardening against Pansy, and her struggles only served to make it worse.

There was a gleam in her eyes. "Enjoying this?"

"You enjoyed fucking Hermione." Spitefully, Ron thrust his hips forward. His cock brushed up against her and he bit back a moan. "You enjoyed doing this to her." Against his better judgement, Ron leaned down and savagely kissed her, biting her lip and thrusting his tongue in her mouth. When he leaned backwards, Pansy's lips were flushed red, and her eyes were wide open and dilated.

"Well, Weasley," she said softly. "If I'd known you'd wanted this..."

Before Ron could say anything else, Pansy wrenched one hand free. He almost expected her to slap him or to punch him, but instead, she dragged him down for another mouth-bruising kiss.

* * *

**day forty**

Pansy ignored him for about two weeks.

The next time Ron saw her, she breezed in as if nothing had ever happened. She had left him food in the Muggle-style fridge in her kitchen; otherwise, he would have starved. Instead, it simply left him wondering why she had a fridge. Hermione had scoured wizarding England for weeks before she had found a store that sold fridges that ran on magic. Their apartment was rather short on holes in the wall for plugs. Ron thought that plugs were quite amusing whenever he saw Hermione's parents use them. It was funny how Muggles seemed to need them for everything.

"Been with Hermione?" he asked acidly.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Pansy's voice was calm as she smirked at him. She crossed her arms over her chest. "I expect you're feeling sorry for yourself after the last few days of bread and water?"

Ron stared. There had been nothing in her fridge but bread, and he hadn't been able to find anything except water to drink. He had thought many times that starving would have been preferable. "That was deliberate?" he exclaimed.

Pansy sneered at him. "You didn't think you'd get away with what you did." Her eyes glittered. "I have my own ways of punishment. Pull a stunt like that again and you'll find yourself being handed over to Lucius."

Ron shuddered. "A stunt?" he repeated. "You liked it."

"That's not the point. You seem to forget, Weasley. I'm your master." Pansy walked over and ran a fingernail lightly down the side of his face. "And you're my slave."

"As if I could forget," Ron muttered bitterly. He couldn't believe his life had come down to this. He had such hopes, such dreams for his life, but instead, he had become something purely to cater to the whims of Pansy. He might be able to rebel once in a while, but it was useless.

"See that you don't," Pansy said. Ron shivered as she leaned in and kissed him hard. She tasted like honey and lemons, all sweet with a sharp tang. "Or you will regret it." Her whisper caressed his ear as she reached down and cupped his cock, which twitched with interest.

Ron clenched his fists; he hated his own body for betraying him.

* * *

**day forty-eight**

There was something wrong. Ron had been feeling it for several days. There was a worried look in Pansy's eyes, and he almost wanted to ask her if she was okay. But he stopped himself. She wasn't his wife or his friend or even a stranger on the street. She was his prison warden, his captor, and he was supposed to want her dead. Except, Ron didn't. He didn't want to admit it to himself, but he was beginning to get used to her company. Logically, he knew that it was some sort of attachment thing. Hermione had talked about it once when they were watching a Muggle movie about slavery, but it still didn't diminish the fact that Ron found himself looking forward to the time he could spend with Pansy.

Without her, he had nothing to do except stare at the wall. Cleaning was marginally more pleasurable, so Ron found himself mopping the floor until it sparkled. Pansy looked amused whenever she found him dusting and sweeping.

"The Dark Lord's worried," Pansy said abruptly.

Ron looked up sharply. "He is?" He was careful to keep his tone even but inside, a small flare of hope grew. If the Dark Lord was worried, then it was definitely a good sign. He just hoped that the worry was big. Massive, even.

Pansy nodded. Her face was unusually pale. "The insurgents have struck for the fifth night in a row. They're taking back parts of Hogsmeade."

Ron blinked. Insurgents? During his entire time here, Pansy had been careful not to mention anything about the outside world, especially anything about those who could defeat the Dark Lord. Ron suspected it was all some sort of ploy to ensure that he was cut off from the real world and that he would lose all hope. "I hope you're not expecting me to break down and cry."

She snorted. "No, actually, I'm surprised you're not jumping up and down in joy."

"I could if you wanted me to," Ron said carefully. He could never be sure of her moods. Some days, they managed to have comfortable conversations like old friends and he could joke with her like he did with Harry, but other days, she was wound tighter than Niffler in a gold box.

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Don't be an idiot, Weasley."

Ron let out a mental sigh of relief. On the scale of Pansy remarks, it was one of the nicer ones. "So," he asked, "who are these insurgents?"

Pansy waved a dismissive hand. "Just people who oppose the Dark Lord's rule."

"Obviously," Ron muttered, but she didn't seem to hear him. He watched as Pansy wandered away, seemingly deep in thought.

* * *

**day fifty**

They had won. Finally, after over fifty days, they had won. It had all happened so quickly, Ron thought. He had expected that it would take months if not years for the Death Eaters to be eliminated. Instead, it had taken a little under two months for the Ministry to be overtaken and the Dark Lord to be killed. There were still Death Eaters scattered all around England, but they were being arrested. And all the slaves were being set free. Apparently there had been significant pockets of Aurors and Order folk in hiding and the Dark Lord had apparently let most of the ordinary peoples of the wizarding world go about their normal everyday lives. Ron couldn't help but think that if he had called in that day, chances are, he would have spent the last weeks in the relative comfort of his own home.

Ron wondered if he ought to feel relieved as he stepped outside of Pansy's house but instead, all he felt was his head spinning at the size of the outside world. He breathed in deeply. It was spring again, and he could smell flowers blooming in the gardens. The sweet poppy scent reminded him of Pansy's perfume and the way she would breeze in and out of rooms, leaving the smell of her perfume behind.

He watched as Aurors grabbed Pansy and handcuffed her. "What's going to happen to her?" Ron found himself asking, his voice sounding distant even to his own ears.

"Azkaban," one of the Aurors told him. "At least at first. Then who knows?" There was an unpleasant expression on his face that made Ron uncomfortable. It reminded him too much of the eager expressions on the faces of those who kept slaves in cages.

"No trial?"

The Auror just laughed and patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Mr Weasley, they won't be getting any of that. They don't deserve it."

Ron flinched at the touch. He hadn't been touched by anybody in over a month except Pansy. He could barely concentrate on what the Auror was saying. There was a roaring noise in his ears and as he looked around, he felt as though everybody was looking at him, judging him. He was one of the few wizards to be kept as a slave by a female Death Eater. As he looked around, he could see one reporter whisper something in the ear of another reporter. Ron clenched his fists. They were talking about him. He knew it.

The Auror laid a hand on his shoulder. "We're going to take you to St Mungo's to get you checked out. Your wife too."

Ron twisted away from the hand. "My wife?" he said faintly. Ah yes. Hermione. He had almost forgotten that Pansy also had her stashed away somewhere in her house, even though he had no idea how he could have forgotten such an important detail.

"You're suffering from shock, I think."

Was he? Ron didn't know. All he knew was that he wanted to get back inside the house. He wanted to see Pansy, to talk to her. "Where's Pansy?" he heard himself asking.

The Auror pointed to where she was being bundled into a car. "She won't hurt you anymore."

Ron squinted at the man. Was there a note of disdain in his voice? Was he being mocking? Did he want Pansy locked up? Ron didn't know any more. He took one step backwards towards the house but the Auror grabbed him by the wrist. "Let me go!" Ron burst out.

"We have another one," the Auror said.

"Another one what?" Ron spluttered. The world seemed to close in around him. He stared around; there were so many people, so many eyes staring at him. He had barely seen anybody but Pansy for the past few months. He could feel sweat beading on his forehead and his hands began to shake. "Let go of me!"

The Auror drew his wand. Ron struggled but he found the wand pointed towards his face. "Stupefy!"

The world went black.

* * *

**day seventy-seven**

Ron couldn't seem to get used to normal life again. He found himself wanting to go back to work, but the Ministry still hadn't got back to normal. Hermione was still recovering in St Mungo's so he couldn't talk to her. Harry had never been captured, and Ron found that he had absolutely nothing to say to him. Harry kept on saying that he was sorry that they had taken so long to defeat Voldemort and that Ron should go and see a psychiatrist, but Ron couldn't see what that mattered. He just wanted his normal life back, but his normal life didn't seem to want him.

He ended up pacing around the flat he shared with Hermione. It was so empty, so quiet without her there that Ron found himself taking out the Muggle-style vacuum just to keep himself company. It was almost soothing to draw the vacuum across the carpet and watch the clean lines it made.

Harry kept on visiting and inviting him to come out. "Help us rebuild," Harry offered. "Come and have a drink. Anything."

Ron just shook his head. He didn't want to go outside. He didn't think he could stand to be around so many people for more than brief intervals. It was much more comfortable in the flat, despite how lonely he felt.

* * *

**day eighty-five**

It was a cold day and a brisk breeze was blowing as Ron stood and waited for the Ministry auction. There were a lot of people milling around and Ron only just noticed as a plump matronly woman got up to the podium and began the announcements. He kept on being distracted by the people in cages. Most of them sneered and spat at the audience, but Ron's gaze kept on being drawn to the dark brown eyes of Pansy Parkinson staring out of the leftmost cage.

"These witches and wizards were found guilty of harbouring slaves during You-Know-Who's unlawful occupation of the Ministry," the woman said crisply. "The Wizengamot has decided that the punishment ought to fit the crime. Thus, these men and women have been therefore stripped of their magical powers and bound with magic dampening devices." She pointed towards the thick bracelets clamped around their ankles. "It is illegal to remove those."

"You don't have to be here."

Ron turned around and saw one of the Aurors who had found him in Pansy's house. "Yes, I do," Ron said, with a grim smile. "I want to be here."

The Auror smirked. "There are some pretty ones. I hear Malfoy's wife is quite good in bed. Good luck in your bidding."

Ron swallowed the bubble of disgust that threatened to burst. He couldn't believe they were all here, watching this as though it was normal, as though they weren't being as bad as the Death Eaters. In fact, as he looked around, some of the former slaves had vindictive looks in their eyes.

"They will be forced to work as servants," the woman on the podium continued. "This is their punishment. They took over five hundred Ministry employees as slaves and now they will be held accountable."

Ron fingered the money in his pocket and it tinkled pleasantly. He wasn't going to bid on anybody, that's what he told himself that morning, but now that he was here, he wasn't so sure.

"The bidding starts at one galleon."

Blinking, Ron looked up at the stage and could see a Death Eater he didn't know being led forward on a leash. She was a pretty witch with long blonde hair and wide, terrified eyes. He could hear murmurs building up in the crowd as people shouted out various bids. He couldn't help looking back at the cages, at Pansy. She seemed to look directly back at him, as if daring him to bid on her.

"You could always bid on your captor," the Auror said.

Ron jumped slightly. It was as though the Auror had read his mind. He didn't want to bid on Pansy, did he? During the first week or two, he had wanted nothing else than to get as far away from Pansy as possible. This was his chance. This was his chance at having his normal life back. If he bid on anybody here today, then his chances at rebuilding his previous life would be over. Ron shrugged. "Maybe," he said slowly, still watching Pansy. She had a mutinous expression on her face.

"Revenge," the Auror said softly. "Nobody would blame you.

Ron watched as the Auror walked away, melting into the crowd. Nobody would blame him. He jingled the coins in his pocket as he watched Pansy being led forward onto the stage. He had enough to buy her.

"This witch was charged with keeping two slaves during You-Know-Who's unlawful occupation. The starting bid is two galleons."

* * *

**day eighty-eight**

Pansy looked up at him. There was none of the fire in her eyes that Ron remembered so clearly. She was slumped in the corner of the dining room of his flat. Ron ignored the shiver down his spine as he saw the blotchy bruise that was just beginning on her cheekbone, the red and purple contrasting vividly with her dark hair. "Well," she said, her voice blank, "how the tables have turned."

"Yes, they have," Ron agreed, unable to keep a slight tremor from his voice. He could still remember how she had arched her back under him as he drove himself into her. He could still remember the look in Hermione's eyes when she was released from her room. Ron had been sickened by the various sexual paraphernalia Pansy had kept in there. It was as though she was a completely different person with Hermione. Ron ignored the painful throb in his chest as he thought of his wife. Hermione was in St Mungo's now, under heavy sedation. Ron had visited her a few times since they were set free, but she had simply turned away.

"I guess I should be grateful," Pansy said. "For the supposed good side, I was certainly raped enough times by your Aurors."

Ron narrowed his eyes. "You didn't do any better to Hermione. In fact, she's practically catatonic."

Pansy laughed hollowly. "That wasn't my doing, Weasley, and you know it."

"Oh?" Ron snapped. "Well you certainly didn't help. You could have kept her in relative comfort. Nobody was checking up to see what conditions you kept your slaves in. Instead, I seem to remember you taking advantage of her."

Pansy shrugged. "You took your revenge for that, Weasley. I remember that clearly."

Ron could remember that clearly as well. He could remember Pansy's angry eyes as he ripped off her robes and the feeling of her long nails down his back as she fought with him. He could remember the way she had kissed him, as though she wanted to possess him and he could remember the way he had pushed her away, held her down as he fucked her.

"Reliving the moment, Weasley?" Pansy sneered.

"Oh shut up," Ron told her. He dug his fingernails into his palms. Why had he bid on Pansy? He had just gone to the auction to watch and, if he wanted to admit it to himself, to see how Pansy was doing. He hadn't meant to actually bid on her. And he certainly didn't mean to win.

"You enjoyed screwing me," Pansy taunted as she pulled herself up off the floor. She teetered slightly and held her hand up against the wall to keep her balance. "Admit it, Weasley. You're no better than the rest of us."

Ron took one step forward and then stopped. He narrowed his eyes. "You forget. I know your tricks. You're just trying to manipulate me." He reached in his pocket and pulled out the controller the Ministry had given him. "Well, you can't. Not anymore."

"And does that make you worse than me?" Pansy asked. "If you're willing to use that on me..."

Ron gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to press the big red button. He wanted to see her writhe on the ground. She deserved to pay for her role in the insurgency. She deserved to pay for what she did to Hermione and most of all, she just plain deserved it. He brushed his thumb over the button, enjoying the look of fear in her eyes. "You're mine now," he said, relishing the words. "I own you."

Pansy snorted. "You'll never own me, Weasley. Just like I never owned you."

"I'm not the one wearing that," Ron said, pointing towards her ankle bracelet. "You know, I could make you feel anything with that on. I could make you throw yourself at me. I could make you scream in pain or pleasure or both. I could make you do anything."

Pansy gave a surprised laugh. "You know what? You're one sadistic fuck, Weasley."

"Takes one to know one," Ron countered. "Face it, you taught me well." He looked down at the controller. He hadn't had the courage to use any of the buttons yet. The cold-faced Auror who had explained them said that the red one would cause unspeakable agony and that the yellow one would cause pleasure. Apparently, the green one would cause nausea, but Ron wasn't sure about the other buttons. He had stopped listening when the Auror had given him a wink and said that he could use the red and yellow one together.

"You can't do it, can you?" Pansy taunted.

Ron gave her a steady look and then firmly pressed the yellow button, while pointing the controller towards her ankle bracelet. His heart hammered in his chest, thumping so hard that he was positive that Pansy could hear it – she had to hear it, because he didn't know if he was doing the right thing, but he knew he had to press the button. Whatever happened, he needed to press it. As he drew in another shallow breath, Ron almost expected Pansy to throw herself at him, but when that didn't happen, he looked at her. There was a strange look in her eyes, half lust and half rage. Her right foot was twitching slightly, as if she was dancing to an invisible beat that only she could hear. She was fighting it, he knew it. Ron's gaze was drawn to the way she bit her bottom lip until it was red and swollen, almost as though she had been kissed thoroughly. Her tongue darted out and licked her lips quickly, and Ron could almost feel it against his skin, wet and warm.

"You won't win," he told her.

"You bastard," Pansy gasped as she took a step forward.

Ron grabbed her by the wrist and kissed her hard. "You are mine," he murmured into her neck. "I couldn't let anybody else have you."

"That sounds almost nice," Pansy said as she started unbuttoning her robes. Her hands were shaking; he could see them tremble but her movements were quick and efficient. "How romantic, Weasley."

Ron could feel himself hardening as she stepped out of her robes. There was a small part of his mind that was disgusted by what he was doing, but that was overwhelmed by the fact that Pansy was walking over to the sofa. She lay back on the sofa and stretched out, spreading her legs slightly. "That's me," Ron said lightly. "Romantic." He walked over to the bookshelf and put the controller down. He stared at it and at the pressed down yellow button. Reluctantly, Ron reached forward and surreptitiously un-pressed it.

As he turned around, he was surprised that Pansy was still looking at him with the same smouldering expression on her face. "Well, what're you waiting for?"

Ron walked forward. "Nothing," he said.

* * *

**day ninety**

Hermione stared at him. "Why did you bid on her?" she asked.

Ron bit his lip. He'd lost count of the number of times he had answered that in the last few days. Most people seemed to believe that he was doing it out of some sort of sadistic desire for vengeance. That was partially correct, Ron knew that, but it wasn't the whole story. "I don't know."

Hermione gave him a sharp look and for a second there, she looked almost like the old Hermione. "You're lying, Ron, I know you." And then, she started to scribble on her piece of paper again, nonsensical things, fragments of poems and pictures that had no meaning to anybody but herself.

She was right, Ron realised. "I owe her," he said quietly, but that wasn't right either. It was more than that. There was a strange sort of connection between him and Pansy, and he didn't want to admit it. He looked over at Hermione but she ignored him and continued scribbling. With a sigh, Ron reached over and brushed a curl away from her face, but she simply batted his hand away and glared at him. "Goodbye, Hermione," Ron said softly.

She didn't say anything as he pushed his chair back from the table and walked away. Once outside St Mungo's, Ron slumped against the brick wall and closed his eyes. He had no idea what he thought of Pansy and after a few nights ago, he wasn't sure what she thought about him either. He did owe her his life. Without her, he might have ended up dead like the countless of other Ministry employees. But there was more to it. He hated her for what she did to him and Hermione. He hated her for who she was and what she believed in. Yet, despite all of that, he didn't want her to come to harm.

Ron walked slowly home from St Mungo's, still deep in thought. He ignored the people around him and the sprinkling of rain that fell on his shoulders. Being outside still made him uncomfortable. It wasn't like the ground was falling away from him anymore, but Ron still preferred to have four walls around him.

As he pushed open his front door, he saw Pansy sitting there, on a chair in the hallway, obviously waiting for him. She was holding a broom. "Hello, Weasley," she said.

"What're you doing?" Ron asked as he closed the door behind him.

Pansy gave him a half-smirk. "I decided to sweep up. You know, make myself useful."

Ron didn't know what to say. "Well, thanks," he said helplessly.

Pansy shrugged. "You did such a good job with my house over the weeks. I figured it was time to return the favour."

Ron watched as she stood up and almost elaborately twirled the broom around. They had a strange sort of relationship, he realised. It was more than the clauses set out by You-Know-Who and the Ministry. It was a weird, fucked-up, strained relationship, but still, a relationship. "I brought take away," he said abruptly, bringing the bag forward.

"My breadwinner," Pansy said with a raised eyebrow as she took the bags from him. The delicious smell of food came from the bags as she set them up on the dining room table.

Standing at the door, Ron surveyed the scene. It looked almost homely. He smiled.

_-fin_


End file.
